


I Got A Sky To Watch

by lithality



Category: SGUIDE
Genre: Bad Things Happen to Hale Ogygia, Fiddler - Freeform, Gen, hes seven which is always a bad sign
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27220261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lithality/pseuds/lithality
Summary: Hale encounters a stranger in a dumpster.





	I Got A Sky To Watch

Sometimes, Hale doesn't know what he's running from. There are many reasons for this. He might hear a highly suspicious noise and decide to fucking book it, which he's fairly certain is one of the reasons he's alive. Or, maybe, he'll just start running because of some sudden, weird  _ wrenching _ feeling deep in his gut that he can't describe very well, but he trusts, because honestly. If you linger around too long ANYWHERE in this fucking town out in the open, especially during the day, or maybe especially at night, actually, he doesn't really know which is worse because both fucking suck. Anyway, if you stay out in the open too long, something's bound to see you and try something. 

Hale knows he's an easy target. He's seven, and he's really short. He can't run very fast, so he makes sure to get a head start and disappear before anyone really notices he's there, or anywhere. 

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck _ .

Now isn't one of those disappearing times. Well, it should be, but it's not working out very well. Based on the snarling and crashing from behind him, that massive troll from before is still after him, and quickly gaining.

He swears he hadn't seen them. All he knew is that he was alone, and then he heard a noise, so he turned to get a look, and then that troll was there, and they said, low and rumbly and slurred enough that Hale could barely understand, "You lookin' at me, you little punk?" To which Hale shook his head vigorously, to which the troll said, "You're just a little fuckin' bite, aren't you. I should rip you up and feed you to the dogs." Followed by this was a lunging motion that Hale took as a significant threat, so he pulled out that tiny little laser pistol he'd been working on and tried to shoot, but then the stupid fucking thing exploded and now his hands were full of both shrapnel and excruciating pain, and the troll was full of surprise and rage, which they expressed via a roared, "You trying to shoot ME, you little shit? I'm going to fucking KILL you!"

So that's why he's running. Except he's not sure he's going to be running for much longer, because, again, he's not very fast and he is very small. Unless he can find somewhere to hide, he's fucking done for. 

He skids around a corner, scanning his surroundings frantically. Come on. There has to be an alley here. Something. Please. Let me be lucky just this one fucking time.

His hands are buried in his shirt. Can't be dripping blood everywhere if he's trying to hide. Oh, holy shit. There it is. That's the alley he's been begging for. He wastes no time scrambling around the corner and diving for a shadow. 

Dumpster. FUCK yes. Those things are perfect for hiding in. He doesn't hesitate a single second before heaving open the lid and slipping inside. He lands on something soft. It doesn’t ooze. That’s nice. It does, however, grunt, and Hale bites down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from making a loud noise.

Oh, this isn’t good. Now that his eyes are adjusting to the low light, he can see that he’s made a terrible mistake. Someone’s already here, and they look fucking pissed. Hale does something he usually never does, and freezes. 

“Fuck are you doin’ here, pipsqueak,” they grunt, putting a tired hand on their face. “Ugh. Can’t anyone in this useless trash heap of a town let a bitch die in peace? Ow. Thanks, by the way. I think I’m going to die faster now. Hurts like a bitch, though.” 

He says nothing, still frozen. What the fuck is he supposed to do? On closer inspection, they look… they’re not too old. Which isn’t rare. Their hair is long and dark, but where it’s not tangled beyond repair, it’s falling out. In other places, it’s shaved. They’re wearing a tattered t-shirt, and he can’t make anything of the jeans, because he’s sitting on their legs. 

Oh  _ shit.  _ His survival instincts finally kick in, and he scrambles backwards against the far edge of the dumpster. If he ever gets that shrapnel out of his hands, he’s going to be fucking amazed. Should he take a bet and try to leave? The hulking troll has to be somewhat lost by now, all he has to do is lay low for a few hours and then make his way back to the junkyard proper. The stranger winces at the movement, and likewise props themself up against their wall. 

Oh.  _ That’s  _ what they meant by dying. That sure is a big fucking knife, and it sure is lodged squarely in their abdomen. They’re not long for this world, he’s sure. He should get out of here. Dying people are testy as shit. They like getting their last laugh in. 

Without a second thought, Hale makes to leap out of the dumpster and book it once more. Unfortunately, a few things happen in rapid succession which prevent this. One, the stranger’s hand is clamped firmly around his mouth. Two, there is sudden, sharp, and  _ excruciating  _ pain in his upper calf. He moves to scream, but the hand shoves him back, and his head connects with the wall with a sickening crack and metallic thunk. He bites down, hard, on the stranger’s fleshy palm, and they pull it back with a hiss.

“Aren’t you being chased? Shut the fuck up, boy!” they whisper-yell. Hale blinks the stars from his eyes, dizzy, and looks down. What the  _ fuck?  _ They fucking stabbed him! With the same knife that was just in their gut! Now he’s pinned to the fucking dumpster by his leg and a big fucking knife. He opens his mouth to yell at them, but they shake their head rapidly. “Shut the fuck up. Now, I changed my mind. You’re real quiet, aren’tcha. I don’t wanna die alone. So you’re gonna stay the fuck here, and when I am gone, you’re gonna go home and, I dunno, forget about it. Tell me your name, kid.”

Hale spits on them. 

“Mother _ fucker _ !” They wipe their cheek and bare their teeth. “C’mon, kid. I don’t mean you any harm. I just had to take, yknow, cautionary measures. Have some fuckin’ respect. C’mon, I’ll even answer any questions you want. It’ll be like, uhh, it’ll be a game. Now what’s your fuckin’ name.”

He glares. “Hale.” 

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it. Here, I’ll help ya out. My name’s Cassie, and I’m the first, last, and only girl around with the balls to fuck up that bitch Arssen. Bet that’s not even his real name, even. I hate that cocky motherfucker. How old are you.”

“None of your fucking business,” he snaps. They--she? She levels him with a flat stare. “Seven.” 

She whistles. “You’re a fuckin’  _ baby,  _ kid. How the hell did you get here? Mommy get stuck in prison for bein’ an anarchist and then sleep ar--actually, no. I don’t even want to know. Well, I do.”   
  
He crosses his arms and leans back. This is fine, actually. He’ll just let them die, and then he’ll take off. This is fine. Well, he’s never seen anyone die, yet, but it can’t be that hard, right? They just kind of stop, and they don’t start again. “I don’t have one of those.”

She shrugs. It’s not that rare. “Sure. Well, c’mon, you don’t have any questions? I’m real interesting, I promise. Solace in my dying breaths. Come on, Hale no-last-name.”

“Why’d you get stabbed,” he says sharply. She laughs. It’s harsh and bitter.

“Told you that already, kid, keep up. Arssen. Weirdass fucking bronzeblood who thinks he runs the north middle ring. He’s a fucking fraud, but he’s got plenty of knives. Well I told that stuck up bitch to stick one up his ass if he wanted to infringe on my rightful fuckin’ business, and he said sic em, and then I got impaled, and they threw me in here. And that’s how I got here. And then you showed up and you fuckin’  _ bit  _ me. Rabid little fucker.”

She shifts, obviously very uncomfortable. Her eyes are unfocused. She’s losing blood a whole lot faster now that she’s pulled that knife out. She sighs, and removes her hand from the wound and wipes the hair from her face. And now it’s covered in blood. Hale grimaces, and sneaks a glance at the wound. Oh, that’s bad. Fuck. He can’t keep one hand from flying to his mouth. 

She grins at him. There’s no humor or warmth in it. “Yeah. Sucks, don’t it. Just wish it’d come faster. I mean, I’d ask you to help, but like, you’re seven. I’m not that heartless. I think.” 

“Sorry,” he says quietly. His stomach churns. She frowns. 

“For what? Not killin’ me? Don’t fuckin’ sweat it, kid. It’s gonna be real soon, now.” She meets his eyes. “Damn. You got some pretty eyes, kid. You should cover ‘em. Someone might want to take ‘em.” 

He can’t do anything to help, and he feels sick. He shouldn’t. She did kind of stab him. But he can’t help it. It doesn’t make sense. He’s passed corpses on the street before, huddled up into corners because no one cares about them and no one wants to bury them, and he was fine. Well, he was fine after a while. 

He’s had the thought that he might be one of those, one day. Hunched over, alone, desperate. Suddenly, Cassie’s actions make some amount of sense. He doesn’t want to die alone, either. 

“I had a kid one time,” she says. Her voice is raspy, now, and her head lolls. “Little fuckin’ baby. The guy was shit. Well I had her for a few months. I gave everything for that fuckin’ tyke. And, well, y’know. Some of those cannibals came by. I screamed, y’know, as they ripped her apart. It sucked.” She’s looking up at the ceiling, now, tears shining in her eyes. “You mind opening that lid for me, kid. Wanna see the sky. Never got to see much of it before. Too busy trying not to, y’know, die. Now it’s too late for that.” She chuckles to herself. 

He does, without a word. Well, first, he has to rip out the knife, but he’s prepared for that, so he doesn’t scream this time. 

“Thanks,” she says. “Oh, it ain’t much, but.” She looks down. “Got this, uh, hoodie thing. It’s your color, I think. Warm when it gets cold. As a thank you, you know. For sticking around. Even though I didn’t give you much of a choice.” She chuckles again. Her voice is barely a whisper.

She does. It’s tied around her waist, knotted loosely. She tries to untie it with weak fingers, but only succeeds in getting blood all over it. 

“Aw, shit. That’s not what I wanted. Hey. Come help me.”

This is fucked up, he’s able to think before he crawls over and pulls apart the knot with clumsy fingers. Cassie pulls it out from underneath her. A good half of it is thoroughly soaked in blood. She frowns at it. 

“You just… just give that a wash. Oh yeah, and don’t… don’t take the knife. They’re gonna come back for it. Actually, once I’m, y’know, gone, mind like… stickin’ it back in there? So they don’t know somethin’s wrong.” She blinks up at the sky. Hale stares at her, horrified. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he manages. She waves him off.

“Dying.”

Yeah. He guesses that’s fair. 

“Now shut up. I got a sky to watch.”

Hale looks up at the sky, too. It’s kind of pretty. Blue. Fluffy clouds. When he squints at the sun, he sees a weird ring of light. That’s strange. He’s never noticed that before. 

After a few minutes, he notices that Cassie hasn’t said a word. Damn it. He looks down. Her eyes are open, glassy. She’s not breathing. She looks like she could be peaceful, if you ignore the fact that the only thing keeping her guts in her body is her limp hand. Fuck. Well, he has to, doesn’t he. He looks at the knife, and then back at her before picking it up. 

He can’t do it. He already feels like he’s about to hurl. 

He ends up placing the knife in her hand before clambering out of the dumpster, hoodie tightly balled in his fist. 

He runs. This time, he knows what he’s running from. 

  
  
  



End file.
